Grimmstead Academy: Defiant Rebellion Read online

  Narrowing his eyes, Victor straightened himself out. “Your weakness is mine,” he whispered, moving his gaze to me. After cracking his neck, he said, “Well, aren’t you going to ask why I’m here? I bet that head of yours is buzzing with curiosity. Lucien was trying to tell me to leave, and as I was attempting to tell him, I simply cannot.”

  I angled my head up to Lucien, side-eyeing him. Lucien hated Victor. Lucien was born of Victor, somehow, shaped into a man. Lucien, I thought, was the only one here created in this house. Everyone else must’ve stumbled upon it during its time—when it was an asylum, or a church, or whatever the heck else it had been since it’d been constructed.

  “Why are you here so suddenly?” I asked, bringing my gaze back to Victor. My mind flashed back, memories flooding me—along with a horde of heat right between my legs. What we’d done in that room, after I walked in and showed him my fire, I just couldn’t forget it.

  I was as connected to Victor Grimmstead as I was to everyone else here.

  “Suddenly?” Victor echoed, cocking his head. The way he stared at me, as if I stood there before him naked and free of all clothing, made me blush. It also made Lucien stand a bit closer to me. “My dear, I am not here suddenly. I’ve always been here. Until now, I simply did not have the strength to appear.”

  Okay, I had no idea what he meant. Then again, half the time I had no idea what was going on here, anyway. This place was confusing.

  “I have watched for so long, unable to take shape.” Victor took a step towards me, seemingly ignoring the terrifying Lucien inches away from me. “You are the reason I am able to walk these halls again, Felice. I knew you would be my salvation.”

  Lucien glowered, causing Victor to sigh.

  “I do wish I could do something about him, though,” Victor spoke, referencing Lucien. “After all, now that I’m back, I have no need for him to watch over these grounds anymore.” He held both hands behind his back, standing tall.

  “You will do nothing to Lucien,” I said, my blood running hotter than normal for a whole host of reasons.

  “I will do as I wish, but I suppose I can be persuaded to leave Lucien be,” Victor spoke with a smile. Right now he played the coy and handsome man, but I knew he could change at the drop of a pin, like Koda and Bram, and become the possessive, rough man I’d seen before.

  The worst thing? The worst thing was I was attracted to both versions of the man, even though I shouldn’t be.

  “Lay a hand on me,” Lucien threatened, “and I will break that hand.” Lucien could get just as rough as Victor could; they were of the same blood, their appearances similar though not identical. Lucien had the muscles. Lucien was what Victor wished he could be: thick and built, his mere presence in a room terrifying.

  “Your brutish ways kept this place under control, though now I suspect you might need a little help with that,” Victor mused.

  “The children,” I said, causing both men’s eyes to land on me. “You brought them here, too. Why?”

  Victor was silent, his expression turning unreadable. “You would think, even after all this time, this place could not surprise me.” He turned his head, his eyes narrowed at the floor. “Alas, it does.”

  I blinked, wondering if that meant Victor did not bring the kids here. If that was the case…was this place playing with all of us? Were we all just puppets in its game?

  “The first goal should be to rid ourselves of the children,” Victor stated.

  Lucien growled out, “And the second?”

  Victor turned his stare to Lucien, eyeing him up with disdain. “To break the curse that binds us here, of course.”

  I nearly laughed. It wasn’t a laughing matter, but that hardly stopped me.

  To break the curse that binds us here.

  Should be easy, right?

  Chapter Two – Felice

  I left Victor and Lucien in the office. The plan was to get the children on a schedule. I had to teach them—as if I had a teaching degree. Heck, I wasn’t even confident when I had to tutor the other guys in things like morality, ethics, and aging. To actually sit down with a room full of kids and teach them stuff?

  Okay, five kids, but still. That was five kids too many.

  Dagen was with Koda in the dining hall. Payne and his mini-me were nowhere to be seen, and I wondered if Payne was still chasing the pale boy around the property outside. The boys wore dark grey uniforms, their feet in shiny black shoes. They sat at the table, looking bored.

  Koda Jr. and Bram Jr. were bickering amongst themselves, and I noticed Koda was doing his best not to stare at them. He stood off to the side, leaning against a window, pensive. Ian and Dagen’s miniatures sat on the other side of the table, looking utterly bored. Dagen’s eyes locked with mine across the room, and I shrugged.

  I had no idea what was going on, no answers to give beside what the plan was. Heck, I had no idea how Victor could possibly get rid of the children. I didn’t even know why the kids remembered me.

  None of it made sense.

  I moved beside Koda, folding my arms over my chest as I stared at the children at the table. “I bet it’s weird, seeing them,” I whispered, referencing the twins at the table. Were these children manifestations of the guys, or did the children come first, way back when? If the latter was the case, what happened to Bram and Koda to make them share a body?

  Again, no sense.

  “I don’t like it,” Koda whispered, his green eyes slow to meet mine. Shadows of uncertainty lingered there, and I hated seeing him like this. I assumed I was only out for the night—otherwise the guys would’ve thrown a fit at seeing me up and walking around—so Koda had only come back into power yesterday.

  It was a lot to get used to, seeing yourself but years younger, along with an evil version of yourself doing the same.

  “Hopefully there’s a way we can…” I paused, about to say get rid of them. Somehow, saying that about children didn’t feel quite right, even if these children should not exist in the first place. “Fix this,” I settled on saying.

  Koda bit his lower lip, worry etched in his handsome features. He truly was an open book; he wore every emotion on his face. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and assure him everything would be fine, that I would take care of it, but I had no idea what taking care of this would entail. These were children, not demons. Not ghosts or dead bodies.

  Children were very out of my wheelhouse. I was an only child, and I never spent much time around younger children after growing up. I found their wide-eyed innocence to be slightly uncomfortable.

  At the table, the younger Ian coughed. He brought his elbow to his face, trying to hide it. The younger Dagen had moved his stare to me, no longer watching the boy beside him. It was strange, seeing these guys with the faces of children.

  “Where’s Ian?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. The moment he saw them walking around the halls, he hightailed it,” Koda answered. “I’d help you find him—”

  “Please don’t leave me alone supervising these children,” Dagen spoke from across the room, causing Koda’s mouth to curl into a dimpled grin.

  “But I’m needed here, apparently,” he finished. “I’m sure you’ll find him. You have a way of finding us all, even in the pitch-black darkness of our minds.” Koda leaned in, placing a soft, gentle peck on my cheeks, and I kid you not, each and every boy in the room either let out a grunt of disgust or a groan of annoyance.

  It was a kiss on the cheek, not a make-out. Ugh, these kids needed to grow up. Or, you know, disappear entirely.

  I left the dining hall, heading directly to the second floor. The kids would have to sleep somewhere; I supposed we could get the empty rooms on the third floor ready for them, but I knew Lucien wouldn’t like sleeping near the children. I didn’t think anyone would, frankly.

  Where would Victor sleep? Maybe the man himself didn’t need to sleep a wink; maybe he’d roam the halls at night, devising nefarious plans.

  Okay, tha
t was Lucien’s suspicion of Victor rubbing off on me. I didn’t view him like that. If Victor asked me to help him, I knew I would without a second thought. If Victor could come up with a way to both get rid of the children and a way off the property, then I’d definitely be down to lend him a hand. Or two.

  Or, you know, anything else he’d need.

  That was not something I should be thinking. Lucien wasn’t a man who hated for no reason; Victor must be bad. He must be. But then again, wasn’t every soul under this roof bad in one way or another? I was no saint, and neither were the guys. Everyone had their demons.

  My feet took me into the guys’ wing, and I started searching for Ian in his bedroom. Ian had told me he wandered the halls sometimes—and that he found some crack in the wall and had watched me, uh, having my alone time in the bath—but I was really hoping now was not one of those times.

  Something small and square sat in the middle of his bed, and I inched forward. The sheets were made, as if he’d never slept in them the previous night, an untouched bottle of rum sitting on his nightstand. The item on his bed was the picture frame that I’d seen before, a picture of an old, haggard Ian dwelling within it.

  My heart hurt when I saw the picture. Ian’s normally dimpled cheeks tired in a frown, his skin sallow and too pale. Even his hair was thinned and straw-like. Gaunt cheekbones, hollow eyes, their expression glazed over and vacant. This was not a picture anyone looked at and felt good about themselves.

  This was a reminder, a warning of what could happen to him.

  And since the glass atop the picture frame was broken, I assumed Ian had seen it.

  “Ian?” I spoke, breaking the silence of the room. A strange smell sat in the air, and I moved around the bed to stand before the bathroom door. It sat, shut, the smell stronger. It almost smelled as if a skunk had let loose just behind the door, but I knew better. No stray animals would be here, wandering the property, thanks to Payne.

  No response, so I knocked on the door.

  “Ian,” I said, leaning my head against the door, my nose wrinkled at the smell. “I know you’re in there.” Anyone with a nose would be able to tell where he was. The others apparently hadn’t looked for him too hard.

  I heard a dramatic sigh inside the bathroom, and I took a step back as I heard the handle being unlocked from the inside. Within a moment, Ian opened the door, leaning against the frame and looking…quite bored, actually.

  A joint sat in the corner of his mouth, the pupils in his blue eyes dilated, wide as saucers. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the top few buttons undone and revealing his smooth chest. His yellow hair was messy in the way it always was. In spite of how unkempt he appeared, he was still just as handsome as ever.

  “What?” Ian asked, blowing a puff of stinky smoke into my face.

  I blinked, shooting him a frown. “What are you doing?”

  “Hiding, duh. I thought that much was clear—or did one of those brats steal my Do Not Disturb sign?” Ian’s gaze lazily flicked to the door to his bedroom as he leaned out of the bathroom. “Ah, wait,” he said, pulling the joint from his mouth, “I never put it up.”

  Determination set, I glared. “You’re high. Really, Ian?” It shouldn’t shock me. Ian drowned out his problems with anything he could get ahold of. I just…I’d thought maybe I’d helped him to move past it, helped him overcome his fears.

  But that was a pipe dream. I could temporarily alleviate these guys’ worries, but I could not fix the root of the problem. I was nothing more than a pretty bandage.

  “Didn’t you see the little devils running around downstairs? Me being high is the least of everyone’s worries,” Ian mused, taking a slow puff from his joint.

  I tore that joint from his hand, threw it onto the ground and stomped on it.

  “What the fuck?” He frowned. “That was a good one.”

  “Where did you even get weed?”

  “It was in my pocket, so clearly the house wanted me to have it.”

  Oh, my God, I could not do this with him right now. I came to make sure he was okay, and I found him locked away in his bathroom huffing one out. Ian was…well, he was Ian. Infuriating, annoying, smooth even when high, apparently.

  “You can’t—”

  Whatever I was about to say, Ian took instant issue with, cutting me off by saying, “You don’t know me, Felice. You can’t tell me how to act or try to impose your morals on me. I have every right to…to be like this. I don’t want that—” He gestured to his bed, where the picture frame sat, broken. “That’s not me. That kid downstairs isn’t me.”

  I didn’t know who he was trying to convince of that: me or him.

  “You can be better than this,” I told him, knowing it was true. Or, rather, hoping.

  Sometimes, though, you put your faith somewhere you shouldn’t. Sometimes you believed things that would only come to bite you in the backside later. Would Ian be one of them? We’d shared some serious moments—and some hot and steamy moments—that made me desperately want to believe in the good in him, the good I knew was there.

  “I don’t want to be better,” Ian told me, his cheeks red—probably from locking himself away in that bathroom and lighting it up. His normally smooth and confident demeanor was gone, replaced by someone I hardly recognized. “Not everyone wants to be saved. Dagen, Payne, Koda and Lucien—save them. But me?” He shook his head. “Just let me drown myself, minx.”

  I knew he was hurting, I did, and I couldn’t blame him for wanting to fall back on his vices. He’d let himself drown for how long before I got here—my sudden presence wouldn’t snap him out of it. No, for Ian to truly get better, it would take time.

  And then, of course, I wondered if he would ever get better. If, somehow, we found a way out of here, if he’d even want to go. Would he decide to stay at Grimmstead, knowing he’d at least live? If there was no guarantee that he’d live a healthy life outside these walls, I couldn’t exactly blame him for it.

  Still, I could get ticked at him for acting so belligerent and obstinate now.

  “I’m not going to let you drown yourself,” I said, taking a step closer to him, setting a hand on his cheek. He winced—almost as if my touch hurt him, but he didn’t pull away. “I won’t let you do this to yourself anymore, Ian. If that means I have to babysit you and your mini-me, that’s what I’ll do. I will babysit all of you if I have to. I won’t let you kill yourself.”

  Ian’s eyes closed. “You can’t die here.”

  I was pretty sure what happened to Payne would prove him wrong there, but Payne was up and walking around, so I let him have this one.

  “Come on,” I said, pulling away from him.

  Ian let out a sigh. “I really don’t want to.”

  “I know, but until those kids are gone, you have to.” My hand fell away from his face, and I watched as he began to pout. An odd expression on a man who had to be in his early twenties, especially one so inherently handsome—even if he was higher than a kite. He was able to hold both his booze and his drugs well.

  “And what about that Victor fellow? He didn’t seem too particularly interested in any of our well-being,” Ian scoffed as we left his room. “He seemed rather stuck-up. I knew it from the first moment I laid eyes on him that I hated his guts almost as much I hate my own guts—which is a lot, if you’re measuring levels of hatred. I’m not sure how you’d measure that, exactly, but I’m sure there’s a way…” He stopped only when I threw him a look.

  “Why don’t you leave Victor to me?” I suggested. “I can handle him.”

  “Oh,” Ian’s voice took on a smooth quality, and the high bastard winked at me, “I’m sure you could take care of him very well. Why don’t we go back into my room and you can give me an idea of how you’re going to do that, hmm? Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

  Ian was back to his sexual suggestions, which had to be a good sign.

  Chapter Three – Dagen

  Dinner was…let’s just say aw
kward. Or, at least, I thought it was awkward. With us, Victor, the children…it wasn’t a dinner anyone wanted to repeat anytime soon, and yet we would. We would repeat it day in and day out until something was done.

  Having Victor here was strange. I vaguely remembered his portrait hanging in the main hall at one point or another, looming over everything that happened inside Grimmstead, but one day his portrait had vanished. Probably foolishly, I’d thought he was gone, but he was never really gone.

  Where had he been all this time? Was Felice the reason he was now here, tangible and walking around?

  Felice.

  While the others focused on the children and on Victor, I had to watch her, had to stare at her as if…well, as if she held the answers to everything. Perhaps she did, or perhaps she didn’t. That didn’t stop me from thinking back to what happened, to what I saw.

  Thump, thump.

  Beyond the noise that constantly threatened to drown out my thoughts, I worried for her. I knew what I stumbled upon, but I didn’t dare think…I didn’t want to—

  My mind was a mess, barely able to think straight. Combine my concern for Felice with the incessant noise in the back of my head, and I was the messiest mess I’d ever been, frazzled and discombobulated to the extreme. Normal men didn’t have to deal with this sort of thing, but I’d known for a long time that I wasn’t normal.

  It felt as if my whole life had been spent inside Grimmstead’s walls. I couldn’t remember a time when I was out in the world, living and breathing free, clean air. Maybe we were all like Lucien—born here. Created here. Held captive here to be constantly tortured.

  I’d imagined this place was hell before, but I never truly thought it was actually hell until now. Until I went down into that basement and found Felice.

  But, staring at her across from the table, she looked fine. Not a wound on her body, and her smile just as infectious. Victor and Lucien were at the head of the table, one on one end and the other at the far end. Lucien sat by us and Felice, while Victor headed the side with the children.